The Plains of Falenton
by Dormant
Summary: The moment of death can be translated into the moment of truth. A warlord confronts the truth he's been trying to avoid, destined for what they call "hellgates."


**The Plains of Falenton  
**  
_Chapter One: Another Link  
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_Some notes that you should read:  
  
This story does not reflect upon personal beliefs, its my "Redwall beliefs," so please, please, don't leave reviews preaching to me. Thanks. I don't mean to sound rude, I'm just telling you. Well, here goes._  
  
The moment of one's death can be translated into the moment of truth. It as at this time that one's life and character are judged, and this is the time in which it is decided where they spend their eternity. This is the time in which one lives for, the time in which they die, and they see for themselves the truth. They see for themselves who they really are, and what they truly deserve, escaping the deceit in which they and others had locked in their minds. It is only at this moment that they can see their character with eyes unclouded, and at this moment they can truly look into their soul for themselves and realize how useless it was to seek others' input. It is at this time that they look beyond their perception of what is good and what is evil, and they see what these things truly mean. It is at this time that they stop looking to others for the answers, and they look inside themselves. This is death, this is truth.  
  
Death is the time in which all the answers and consequences are finally seized. The answers to the questions that linger in the minds of all, tugging at the hearts and minds of all living and able to comprehend the end. Is there life after death? What awaits me when this phase of my soul is finished? Is it just a phase, or is this the end? What is the consequence for living a life of inpurities? What is truth?   
  
Death is the answer to all questions. Death is the moment of truth.   
  
Falenton Vednais's moment was imminent. These were his last seconds of mystery, these were his last seconds of wondering. The last seconds of this phase, the only phase in which was familiar to him. The phase in which he was in control, the phase in which he ruled his own life and was free to make his own decisions. This was the phase of his judgement. This was the test, little did he know, and he failed. This tiny sliver of the existance of his soul was the only bit in which he was his own power. From the moment after his death, he would be controlled and used, just as he controlled and used others. He would finally realize the consequences of his tyrannical ways, and the tables would be turned, showing him what true tyranny was.   
  
Falenton wallowed and reveled in these last precious yet painful moments of his life. He watched as the line between reality and dreams became blurry. He could hear them laughing and taunting him yet, their voices echoing distantly in his nauseated mind. Their sick, smiling faces went out of focus and all their proportions were stretched and skewed. Ferrets, weasels, stoats, foxes, and rats, all of them looking upon him with these insanely euphoric grins upon their faces.   
  
Falenton could remember these same faces, looking upon him with respect. They had all respected him once. They referred to him as "lord," he was their leader. They depended upon him once, to fix all their problems, to be responsible for the well being of every single one of them. With this power came abuse, however. Falenton felt free to take advantage of their trust and loyalty, expecting them to give up their lives for his well being only. The role had become reversed, and although they still followed him, they all hated him. What was once loyalty and trust turned quickly into fear, and they only ran to another. Another that was so much like him, so long ago.   
  
At this dying moment was the time in which he had realized that he was only another link in the chain. Just another cycle in the vermin world, just another name in the long history of leaders, each ending up the same as the other. Seeming to be a hero and savoir, but only turning into everything they had once fought against. Everything that they had once hated, they became. That was the way it was, and it seemed inevitable that this one would only end up the same way.   
  
Falenton looked upon the next link in the chain, and his heart went out to the young stoat. The hero would only end up in this very position at the end, and he would then realize. He would realize how useless his life was, how his life would be empty, and he would only end up failing this test. He would then realize, as well, the gaping hole within his heart that was brought on by a life that consisted of power and greed. There was no love or even happiness in such a life. A life wasted, a test failed.  
  
The young stoat stood over him, grinning with pride. He was gripping a curved sword awash with Falenton's blood, wearing a gray tunic covered in crimson stains. He was tall and lithe, as most vermin leaders were. He had deep blue, glittering eyes that were alight with thrill. Falenton thought it strange, how he was sympathizing for his own killer. He would someday feel this same aweful feeling in which Falenton was experiencing. He too would realize that he was alone, no one would be there to hold his paw as he lie dying. No one, because no one cared. It was only another leader, another emotionless, numb personification of what they called guidance. That was all a warlord was to them. Guidance.  
  
"If only you knew..." Falenton murmured to his assailant softly, sobs audible in his almost silent voice.  
  
Just for a moment, the stoat seemed to take this "warning" into consideration. A quick flash of fear and perplexity glinted in his sapphire eyes, but he snapped out of it quickly. He couldn't let them see for a second what he was feeling. They were all watching him, and he was afraid of what they would think.  
  
The new lord turned and walked away, saying nothing to his victim.   
  
Falenton gripped his profusely bleeding wound upon his stomach, gritting his teeth, trying to bite back the pain. He watched the mutated images of what once was his life, his home, his followers. Blurbs of bodies stood around him, staring down at him with eyes almost invisible in the blur of Falenton's vision. He gazed up into the grayish black sky as it began pelting cold, merciless drops upon him, almost on cue. This was the weather fit for the scene of his death. It was as if the heavens knew the exact moment to pour their forlorn atmosphere upon the dying, and those watching.   
  
This was it. This was the end of life for lord Falenton. Hot tears welled up in his dying eyes, and the last of his tears fell. Never again would lord Falenton Vednais cry.   
  
He could feel everything becoming numb, the pain from his wound fading. He felt a wave of pure weakness wash over him, stilling him in this position forever. Darkness engulfed his world, and his lungs became heavy. So heavy that he could not force himself to breathe. Here was his last breathe, followed by the last beat of his broken heart. Falenton's body, his shell, shut down. All that was left was a black, failed soul. 


End file.
